


Over the Rainbow

by Kathryn_Sabourin



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Henry Laurens is a dick, Homophobia, I hate Henry Laurens, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misogyny, genderqueer lafayette, happy ending I promise, john is hella gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7550998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kathryn_Sabourin/pseuds/Kathryn_Sabourin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little boys don't cry. Little boys aren't shy. Little boys are tough; They do stuff that little girls don't try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Todrick Hall song "Over the Rainbow." I HIGHLY recommend that you all go check it out; I cried the first time that I listened to it. 
> 
> Please Read & Review!

Eleanor nearly dropped the pan she was washing when John ran into the kitchen crying, leg bloody. Rushing over to him, she carefully picked up the three year old and placed him on the counter. She rolled up his shorts so that she could have easy access to the wound. 

“What happened, querido?” She asked, grabbing a washcloth from the sink. John cried as she wiped away the excess blood.

“I wa-was playing on the swing and I-I fell off and landed on a r-rock.” He whimpered, sniffling in between phrases. Eleanor rubbed his arm soothingly. While the wound was non-threatening, John had always been more sensitive to physical injury. The smallest bump always sent him running to his mother.

“It’s gonna be okay, corazon. I’ll be right back, okay?” He nodded, and she pressed a kiss to his forehead. As she walked upstairs to find her first-aid kit, Henry Laurens walked in from the garage. 

Upon seeing his son crying and covered in dirt, he walked over the little boy. “Aw, Jackie, what’s wrong? Did you get hurt?” He lay his briefcase on the table, rolling up his shirt sleeves to take a look at the injury.

John nodded, pointing to his leg. “It got cut open on a rock,” he explained, still sniffling. Henry ruffled his son’s hair affectionately. Eleanor entered the kitchen from behind him. 

“Chin up, champ. Crying’s for sissies, take it like a man. Little boys are supposed to be tough!” His voice held no menace, but his wife frowned at the advice. 

“Henry, let me clean him up,” she requested, gesturing to the first-aid kit. Henry stepped aside, and Eleanor pulled Neosporin and a band-aid out of the kit. Applying the cream to the wound, she made quick work of cleaning the cut. “Alright,” she pronounced, smoothing the bandage out. “Good as new.” She wiped the lingering tears away from her son’s eyes, kissing each cheek. 

“Se siente mejor?” She asked, eyes soft with affection. She pushed his long curls away from his forehead. John nodded, and wrapped his arms around her neck. 

“Gracias, Mama,” he said. Eleanor hugged him tight, lifting him up off of the counter and back on to the floor.

“Why don’t we stay inside for a little bit? Would you like to help me finish laundry? You can even help me make the bed,” she promised. John nodded excitedly, taking her hand in his. He had been helping her more recently with the house chores, a responsibility he took with pride. 

The Laurens patriarch laughed. “C’mon, Jacky. Wouldn’t you rather go back outside and play some catch with your old man?” He opened his arms at the proposal, inviting John to accept his offer. In return, John shook his head. 

“I want to help Mommy,” he declared. 

“And you’re Mama’s best helper, Corazoncito,” Eleanor acknowledged, looking pointedly at Henry. 

\---

“How was your lesson?” Eleanor asked John as he came running out of the dance studio. He was bursting with excitement as he took his mother’s hand. 

“Miss Tory told me that my Brisé was the best in the class! She could tell that I’ve been practicing!” Eleanor shouldered his dance bag, and quickly held her stomach, stopping their walking. She let out a pained sighed. 

“Are you okay, Mama?” John asked, the five year old concerned. 

“I’m okay, querido. The baby just kicked me very hard, that’s all.” At eight months pregnant, Eleanor was still out and about, albeit significantly slower. 

She helped John into his booster seat, and slid into the front seat of the car. Pulling out of the parking lot, she adjusted the mirror to get a better look at her son. He sat contently, looking out the window at the trees as they drove. 

“Mama?” He asked, still looking out of the window. 

“Yes, Cariño?”

“When is the baby coming?” John had been extremely excited to learn that he would be joined by another sibling when they first told him. When he had accompanied Eleanor and Henry to the first ultrasound, John had been amazed at the image of the tiny fetus. He constantly asked for updates, and even kept a picture from the first ultrasound in his room. 

John would often ask to touch his mother’s stomach, in hope of feeling the baby kicking. More often than not he was left disappointed. But Eleanor will never forget his reaction the first time he felt the baby; his face had never looked brighter. 

“In a little less than a month, mi amor. You’re going to have a little sister very soon!” John had already asked if he could pick out the name, and his parents had conceded that power. He’d chosen a name after the wife of his father’s colleague. The Washingtons were close family friends, and John had formed a special bond with Martha. While his father had instilled a respect of Senator Washington in John, Martha was the one he ran to when visiting. He would spend hours with Martha and his mother in the drawing room of the house, often times participating in the conversation just as fluently as the two women. 

Pulling into their garage, John quickly ran out of the car and into the house. He held the door open for his mother, who took a bit longer climbing the handful of steps into the house. 

“Gracias, nene. We’re home!” She called out, Henry coming into the kitchen to meet them. 

“Hi sweetheart,” he greeted, giving her a light kiss on the lips. “Hi buddy. How was class?” 

“Can I show you what I learned today?” John asked excitedly. He took third position, and flowed easily into a Pirouette piquée. His form was nearly perfect. Henry raised his eyebrows at the demonstration. 

“Wow, you sure are something special, kid. You’ve been working hard on that?” John nodded, grin stretching from ear to ear. “Alright, why don’t you go get changed, bud. Then we can go give your mother a break. 

John hurriedly ran up the stairs to his room. Henry turned to Eleanor, concern in his eyes. 

“What?” She asked him, taking a seat in the one of the kitchen table chairs. 

“This dance stuff was fine when he was younger, but do we really want him to continue with it now? Especially since he’s starting grade school?” 

Eleanor studied her husband’s face. He wasn’t faking concern; she could tell that he was being completely serious. “Henry, I fail to see the problem with John continuing his dance classes. He loves it, and has a natural talent for it. You saw that.”

“Yeah but if he keeps up with it, what’s gonna happen? He could become, you know…” he trailed off, crossing his arms against his chest. He met Eleanor’s skeptical gaze. “I’m just saying, boys his age should be starting in sports. He should be enrolled in a little league, not in ballet class. It’s not right.” 

“Henry-”

“It’s not up for debate, Eleanor. I want him out of those classes. Now.” 

She stared at him, gaze turning cold. Gripping the table for support, she slowly stood up. “Then you can be the one to tell him,” she declared, turning to go up the stairs. “Estoy cansado, I’m going to take a nap.”

Henry was left in the kitchen, confused as to his wife’s anger. 

\---

John accepted the plastic tiara that Martha handed him. His bright pink princess dress was several inches too short, but it was meant for a child younger than him. The nine year old helped his sister pull on her matching blue dress, handing her a toy scepter. 

“Okay, now I’m the fairy godmother and you’re the princess,” Martha declared, pointing her scepter at her older brother. Even though she was five years his junior, she neared him in height; John had always been on the shorter end of the spectrum. 

“You need to ask me for help, and then I’ll grant you three wishes,” she asserted. 

“What am I supposed to ask for?” he asked, confused. “I don’t need any help.” 

“It’s pretend, silly! You’re supposed to make it up!” Martha crossed her arms across her chest. “It can be for anything.”

John thought for a moment, before deciding on his requests. “Okay, first, I want-”

“No, no no! You’re supposed to summon me, like in the movie. Then you can ask me for help.” Martha explained exasperated, stamping her foot.

Frustrated, John threw his hands up in the air. “You keep changing the rules! I don’t want to play!” He exclaimed, storming out of the playroom. He ran downstairs to find his mother. 

“Mama!” He called. “Martha’s not being fair!” 

Eleanor sat on the couch with Henry, watching a movie. Upon seeing John enter the room, Henry immediately stood up. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked the boy. 

“Martha wanted to play princess and fairy godmother and then kept bossing me around and changing the rules.” John pouted. Eleanor reach forward, taking his hands in hers. 

“Querido, Martha’s a lot younger than you. Tienes que ser paciente con ella. Why don’t you go back, and find a different game to play. Maybe one where you both know the rules.” She stroked his hair, smiling at the loose braids John had tried make. 

“Okay,” he said, beginning to turn back around when Henry grabbed his arm. 

“John, take that dress off. You’re too old to be playing these games.” He ordered. 

Confused, John turned back to his mother. “Why?” he asked earnestly. “We’re just playing, Pa.” 

“It’s time that you start acting like a man, Jackie. Men don’t wear dresses.” 

“Henry,” Eleanor tried to intervene, but Henry kept going, ignoring the tears beginning to form in his son’s eyes.

“Go get changed right now. Find something else to play.” He let go of his son, John running up the stairs crying. 

“Was that really necessary?” Eleanor demanded, turning on Henry. “He is nine years old. There is nothing wrong with him playing with his little sister. You should be thankful that he loves her enough to play those games with her! Most little boys would never do that.” 

“This kind of behavior needs to be beaten out of him now, while he’s still young.”

“Beaten?” Eleanor asked, shrinking away from her husband. 

His demeanor softened, reaching out to her. “That’s not what I meant, Eleanor. C’mon, you know me. He just, he should be interested in girls, not girly things. If we don’t straighten him up, who knows what’ll happen.” 

Eleanor shook her head. “You need to go talk to him. Now. Apologize. Usted acaba de romper el corazón de su hijo.” She walked out of the room into the kitchen. Henry stood in the living room contemplating what best to do. He grabbed a book from the end table’s drawer, and headed upstairs. 

He found John in his room, curled up on the bed crying. The dress and tiara were strewn aside on the floor. “Jacky?” He called. John refused to look at him. 

“Can we talk, son? There’s something we’ve never really spoken about, and I think it’s useful now.” 

John sniffled, sitting up. “What is it?” Henry joined him on the bed, smoothing out the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bedspread. He looked at the book in his hand. 

“Do you know what this is, Jacky?” he asked, gesturing to the tome. The little boy nodded. 

“That’s the Holy Bible, Pa. We read it in Sunday school.” 

“Exactly.” Henry trailed off, looking around the room. There were photos of John from ballet recitals, pictures of animals he had drawn, the ultrasound of Martha. He had stuffed animals next to Barbie dolls, toys he had borrowed from his sister. CDs were stacked on the shelf next to books. Old dance costumes were piled into boxes in the corner. Everything in the room was just so...John. 

“Jacky, I’m a senator; I don’t believe in a lot of things. But there are two things that I believe in: God, and you.” He playfully poked John’s arm. “You’re special, John. I believe that God made you to be special. And if you follow the path that God has paved out for you,” he started, gesturing to the Bible, “then I believe that you will go far in your life. Maybe even become a politician like your pops.” 

John rubbed his eyes. “I don’t want to be a politician, I want to be a nurse, like Mama.” 

Henry patted John’s back. “As a senator you could help a lot of people, Jacky. You could really enact change.” 

Frowning, John pulled away. “Mommy helps people. She helps people every day. You just sit in an office all day.” 

His father sighed, standing up. “We’ll talk about this some more later, Jacky. Why don’t you go find your mother?”

\---

Eleanor had noticed that John was acting extremely strange lately. He’d become much more withdrawn, barely participating in family interactions. She and Henry couldn’t draw any answers out of him; his responses were always curt. He spent most of his time locked in his room now, avoiding his parents whenever possible. The only person he really interacted with was Martha, who often kept him company in his room. 

She passed his room, carrying a basket of laundry. Hearing a weird noise, she paused. She knew that Martha was out at a friend’s house, so it was just John in there. Eleanor contemplated for a moment, before going with her gut and knocking on the closed door. 

“John, es todo bien?” The noise stopped. 

“Come in,” a weak voice called. Concerned, Eleanor dropped the basket in the hallway, entering the room. She found John sitting on his bed, arms wrapped his knees, tears streaming down his face. 

“John, corazon, what’s wrong?” She rushed to the bed, searching for any signs of injury. “Qué pasó? Is it something with school?” 

In response, John started crying harder. “I’m sick, Mama,” he sobbed. 

Eleanor placed the back of her hand to his forehead, but he pulled away from the touch. “No, not like that. I’m sick on the inside. Pops said.” She stared incredulously at her son. 

“John, lo que está hablando?” 

He tried to wipe away his tears, but only starting crying harder. “Pops talks about it all of the time. That people like me are sick. I didn’t want to be like this, I tried to make it go away! But I can’t.” 

Eleanor studied her son’s face. Realization slowly dawned on her. “Jacky,” she began softly, “are you gay?” John sobbed at the word. 

“I’m s-so sorry Mama I tried I really did! I prayed for it to go away, to be better. It’s not working!” John was rocking back and forth, gripping himself. He looked terrified as he avoided his mother’s eyes. 

“Please don’t be mad at me.” He begged.

Eleanor’s heart shattered. “John, I want you to listen to me, okay?” Eleanor cradled his face in her hands, wiping away his tears with her thumbs. “Mi sol, you are so special, John. Don’t forget that. You are mi tesoro. There are people in this world who will want you to change, because they’re uncomfortable with themselves. Don’t ever let them change who you are. Promise me this, okay?” Her voice was unwavering. 

John looked up at his mother, a mixture of pain and relief in his face. “You’re not angry?” He whispered. 

“Of course not, corazon. You are perfect the way you are. Siempre te amaré , no importa qué,” she promised. 

John sniffled, using his sleeve to wipe. “What about Pops?” He asked, unsure. Eleanor took his hands in hers. 

“Don’t doubt that your father loves you, John. He’s just...worried about you. He’s more old fashioned than little old me. He hasn’t adjusted to the times as well as others. Your grandfather was the same way.”

“Will he be mad at me?” The twelve year old asked softly. 

Eleanor didn’t answer him. “I’m on your side, John. If you want to tell him, we can do that. If you don’t want him to know, then that’s alright, too. It’s up to you, Jacky.” There was a wail from the other room. 

“You don’t need to make a decision yet. I’ll go check on your brother while you think about it.” Eleanor proposed. John crawled over to her, wrapping his arms around her neck. She held him tight. 

“I love you, Mama,” he murmured. 

\---

Henry found John’s sketchbook on the kitchen table. He opened it, flipping through the dozens of filled pages. The one’s towards the beginning were sketchier, before he had really gained his current skills. They were mostly wildlife, more often than not turtles. As he got to the more recent drawings, John’s true talent came to light. There was a picture for each of his siblings; Martha the oldest at twelve, James and Henry as toddlers, and Mary Eleanor as an infant. 

When Henry flipped to the last page, a large portrait of Eleanor greeted him. Her features were soft, a few wrinkles started to take place on her face. Her wavy hair cascaded down her shoulders, and she looked happy. Henry lingered on this image, lightly tracing the details with his finger. 

“Hello, darling,” he murmured to the page. Eleanor had died a year ago, and John had cut nearly everyone off afterwards. Martha became his confidant, helping him work through his grief. 

Hearing someone walking towards the kitchen, Henry walked away from the sketchbook, instead grabbing a plate off of the rack to dry. John entered the room, and looked from his open sketchbook to his father. 

“Those, uh, those are really good, Jacky. They’re beautiful.” The seventeen year old nodded, eyes downcast, moving to close the sketchbook. 

“Thanks. Mr. Lee’s been helping me in class. He’s who started me on portraits.” John turned to leave the room when Henry called him back. 

“Say, John, have you started looking at colleges yet? You’ll need to apply next year, right?” John stayed looking at his feet as he fiddled with the wire coil on his sketchbook.

“I, um, I’ve actually been looking at Columbia, in New York.” He responded meekly. 

“Oh, Columbia has a great pre-law program! That’ll project you into Law School, no problem!” Henry stated, excited. 

“Actually, I was thinking about their nursing program. Mr. Lee suggested it to me. He said he would write me a recommendation.” 

Henry turned to John, who avoided eye contact. “I thought we talked about this. You’re going to law school.” 

“Dad, I don’t want to be a lawyer. I’d be a terrible lawyer. I can barely memorize the periodic table, let alone hundreds of years of legal history.” John looked up at his father, locking eyes. “I want to do it for Mom.”

“John Laurens, your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all lawyers. That is the tradition we pass down.” Henry voice grew firm, his eyes steely. John shifted his stance, steadying himself. 

“I’m not your legacy, Dad. You can’t force your fantasy on to me.” John had begun standing up to his father a year ago. After his mother’s death, there was no one else to defend him. He’d convinced his father to let him attend the local arts high school, in exchange for joining the football team. He had talked Henry out of sending him and Martha to Europe for school, and the babies to an aunt’s, under the condition that John care for the younger children when Henry was in Congress. Slowly but surely, John had started asserting his autonomy. 

“Then you can forget about me paying! I won’t pay a cent of your tuition if it’s not law.” 

“That’s fine,” John spat, venomously. “It’s not like you’ve ever supported any of my endeavors. Dance, choir, science, none of it. I could never live up to your ‘holier than thou’ expectations. I’m sorry I’m such a massive disappointment to your image. I’m sure that Washington and Schuyler are just ashamed at how I turned out, too!” Referencing Henry’s colleagues was a low blow, but John didn’t care.

Henry dropped the dishrag he had been holding onto the counter, pointing the fork he was drying at John. “Watch your mouth, son,” he growled. “I won’t be spoken to like that in my own house!” 

John threw his arms up in the air. “How the fuck do you think I feel, Dad? Everything I do is wrong to you. I’m a girly theatre kid; I’m not man enough for you. News flash for you, Dad: I’m gay.” This was the first time he had ever said those words to his father. 

His father took a step back at the statement, appall crossing his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“That’s right! I’m a massive, flaming, homosexual. And there’s nothing you can do about that, Dad. Not Sunday school, not therapy, not football. This is me; Mom could accept it. Why can’t you?” Henry paled at the question. Eleanor had known, and had never said anything to him?

They squared off, both glaring at the other. 

“Get out of my house,” Henry ordered coldly. 

\---

John knocked on the dorm room door, anxiously running his hand over the strap of his duffle bag. He had missed orientation, and didn’t have a key into the room yet. But John had made it. He had fought for every scholarship, and at nineteen years old, had gotten accepted into Columbia. 

The door opened, and John was met by an Amazon. 

“Bonjour, mon ami. Are you John?” This person stood several inches taller than John, had a lovely goatee, wore a floor length navy blue maxi dress, and rocked bright purple lipstick. John had never seen anyone so fabulous in his entire life. 

“I, uh, yeah. Yeah I am.” His roommate opened the door wider, and turned to walk back into the room. 

“Bienvenue, John, Je m’appelle Lafayette.” they called, knocking once on the other door in the suite. “Herc, Alexander, come meet our new friend.” 

John walked into the common room, dropping his bags on the floor. Two other people came out into the living space, the size difference drastic. One of them was as tall as Lafayette, and the second was slightly shorter than John. His long hair was pulled into a loose bun, and when their eyes met, John immediately forgot his own name. The shorter man smiled at John, who in turn shared an awkward grin. 

“John, these are our other roommates. This one here is Hercules Mulligan; don’t worry, his bark is much worse than his bite. But you will soon find that he is much more of a teddy bear than a dog.” Lafayette gestured to the enormous man leaning against the couch, who waved at the acknowledgment. “And this here is Alexander Hamilton. Mon petit lion,” Lafayette introduced, teasing as he gestured to the other man. 

Alexander locked eyes with John, and he felt his stomach turn to mush. He knew from that moment on he was a goner. 

“Mes amis, this is John, uh…” they trailed off, looking to John to complete their sentence. 

“Oh, uh, Laurens. John Laurens. It’s nice to, um, to meet you all.” He averted his eyes, hand itching for something to fiddle with. Sensing his unease, Lafayette picked up one of his bags. 

“Mon ami, you must be tired from your trip. You have come all the way from South Carolina, no?” 

John shook his head, rubbing his arm. “No, uh, I’m from there, but I’ve been living in Virginia for the past year. So not as long a drive, but still.” Lafayette nodded, reaching out to John. 

“Why don’t I show you your room, mon cheri? You can rest, then rejoin us when you are ready.” They gestured for John to follow them into the adjacent room on the other side of the suite. 

Mulligan reached out and patted John’s shoulder as he passed him. “Yeah man, do what you gotta do. We’ll be here when you’re good.” 

Alexander gave him a small smile. “It was nice to meet you, John. We have much to talk about.”

John gave a gracious nod to both of them. “Thanks, guys. I’ll uh, I’ll be out in a bit.” He followed Lafayette across the living room into the other bedroom. One bed was already made up with bright purple sheets and fairy lights, while the other was bare. Lafayette dropped John’s duffle bag onto that bed. 

“This is our room. That dresser over there,” they gestured to the one next to John’s bed, “is yours. Feel free to claim the desk, I will never use it anyway.” There was a small desk pushed against the wall, in front of the only window in the room. It was clear of any items. “The bathroom is out in the hallway that you came in from.” John nodded at all of the information. 

“If you need anything, mon ami, we will be right outside. I will let you to yourself, now.” Lafayette began walking out the door when John called out to them. 

“Oh hey, uh, Lafayette?” The French person stopped and faced them. 

“Oui?” They asked, concerned.

“Thanks,” John said, conviction strong in his voice. “Thanks for, uh, for being you, I guess.”

Lafayette smiled. “Dear Laurens, I believe that we are going to get along just fine.” They left John alone in the room. He lay down on the bed, tucking his arms behind his head. He was finally here. 

His father had fought tooth and nail to prevent John from coming to Columbia. He threatened him with disownment, prevented him from seeing his siblings, anything he could do to try to intimate John. John refused to bend. He’d gotten into Columbia, had gotten a near full ride, and was going to be a nursing major. It was all thanks to Senator Washington. 

Having retired from politics when John was still young, George Washington returned to practicing law, and was now a professor for Columbia Law School. Upon hearing that Henry had kicked John out, he immediately offered him his home in Mount Vernon, Virginia. The family friends had taken John in as if he was their own son. With the Washingtons, John was able to thrive. George was one of the main reasons John had been successful in getting into Columbia; he had written John a glowing letter of recommendation. 

John looked around the small bedroom, and thought back to the three other roommates in the living room. He could hear them laughing at some unknown joke, Lafayette and Alexander going back and forth in rapid fire French. This was the first time in years he had lived in a multilingual house. His mother had only taught him bits and pieces of her native Spanish, and once she died, it left with her. He smiled. 

He was finally home.

\---

Alexander gingerly brushed a lock of hair out of John’s face. John took Alex’s hand in his own, softly kissing each of his fingers. He pulled their bodies closer together, their legs entangled, hips against each other. It was Sunday morning, and neither of them had anywhere to be. 

John ran his thumb over the ring that Alex wore, tracing the band. They’d been engaged for a little under a year now, as they neared the last few months of grad school. At twenty-six, they were taking the plunge into the real world together, just like they did with everything. 

“Are you ready to be Mr. Alexander Laurens?” John asked lightly. 

Alexander snorted. “Um, I believe that it’s you who is about to become Mr. John Hamilton, l'amour de ma vie,” He amended, interlocking fingers with John. 

“Mmm, I just don’t think that has the same ring to it. Sorry, I don’t get to make the rules.” John laughed as Alexander playfully shoved him. 

“We should actually start planning this thing though, right?” Alexander sighed. “What do we say, one year away or two?”

John thought about it for a moment. “Two. That’s enough time to get settled. We can actually set aside some cash by then. Plus we’ll be busy with work. Washington’s gonna hire you. You’ve weaseled your way into their hearts by now, haven’t you?”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “I used my amazing charm and impeccable good looks to woo them.” 

After studying law under both Martha and George Washington for six years, Alexander had formed a bond with them that no other student could have dreamed of. The two were the closest thing either he or John had to parents. 

John hummed. “Good. Then he can walk you down the aisle. It’ll be so emotional,” he teased, voice raising into a comical accent on the last phrase. 

“Yeah, and Lafayette will walk you down.” Snorting, John nodded. 

Henry Laurens had spoken to John twice since he had come to New York: first to tell him that he had remarried, and next in a moment of remorse. He’d heard about the shooting of a gay nightclub, and had called to see if John was alive. John told him that he was engaged, and Henry asked what her name was. The conversation had been brief. 

“And Angelica will officiate. We won’t tell her what to do, she’ll just get free reign to say whatever the hell she wants.”

“Oh yeah, and that totally won’t backfire either,” Alexander agreed. He ran his hand up and down John’s back, tracing light patterns. 

“We’ll need a flower girl...personally I nominate Herc.” 

There was a moment of silence between them. 

“Honestly, he’d probably love that,” Alex said, raising his eyebrows. 

John leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss against Alexander’s lips. “Mi sol,” he whispered. His fiance returned the gesture, letting it linger between them. 

“Martha will be my maid of honor; she’s been begging to plan my wedding since we were about six.” After she had graduated, Martha tracked John down, thanks to the Washingtons. They had immediately reconnected, quickly making up for the three years that they had lost. She was a business major at NYU, and John knew that one day she would be running Corporate New York. 

“And Jefferson will be your man of honor.” John added, face feigning seriousness. 

Alexander stared at him, horrified. “Okay, now you’ve gone too far.” 

John laughed, kissing him again. As it deepened, they shifted so that they both sat up, John straddling Alexander’s hips. He grinned at John, eyes crinkling. Alex looked at John and saw the world. John looked into Alex’s eyes and saw stars. He ran his hands through Alex’s hair, sinking onto him as Alexander wrapped his hands around John’s waist. John leaned in to kiss him again.

“You know, now that I think about it, Mr. John Hamilton does have a certain ring to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Se sente mejor?: Does this feel better?  
> Estoy cansando: I'm tired.  
> Tienes que ser paciente con ella: You need to be patient with her.  
> Usted acaba de romper el corazón de su hijo: You just broke your son's heart.  
> Es todo bien: Are you alright?  
> Qué pasó: What happened?  
> lo que está hablando: What are you talking about?  
> Siempre te amaré , no importa qué: I will always love you, no matter what.  
> l'amour de ma vie: Love of my life
> 
> Translations courtesy of Google, so please forgive any mistakes!
> 
> Come hang out with me on Tumblr: wiccan-lesbionage


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